In this me-me-me pursuit. Trying a new tactic. Tired about what pump out and feel the need to complete is quickish but laborious. Plus scamper about once up and correct typos etc. Think will bash bits and b's, when and what have you, over a day. A handful or less, short blocks. Go with this. And one of them sing-a-long church numbers. . . .

Hey, imaginary friend. Nah... won't see this, as that. To the heavens and fixed-on -- God:

Jonah ran. Gave up living. For others. Rescued/resurrected. Sent again, went. A cycle of change. Frustrates me, all and any, holidaying off. The rage to escape for a next few hours. Distract from... the call and going.

Writing to myself is a strange compulsion. In itself, tells-me, much 'bout me. Wanting somehow to connect through and with God. Discover and meet again, like times before, better still go beyond. And not wobble about and all those rubbishy days. Now, a taunting wind-up. Blessed ignored.

Pride in our view of, and dealing with each other, comes from our stupidity about God. Assuming that is, we're believing on and making connections. Not making Jesus claims? No reason not to puff up. No basis except many do, in a kind of who-needs-God virtuous rebellion from a church without love.